


Drown Your Demons

by EvilShtriga



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Inner Dialogue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sarcasm, Second-Person Narrative, Self-Esteem Issues, Soliloquy, Suicidal Thoughts, lack of proper self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilShtriga/pseuds/EvilShtriga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's recovery isn't always smooth. But sometimes one little thing can point to the light at the end of the tunnel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown Your Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I can't drown my demons](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/124905) by Marta Thomas. 



Words scare you sometimes. You know there is something creepy about strings of sound carrying meaning; so much meaning they can change people’s lives, even the entire history of the planet. Words cannot be trusted. They can be vessels of deceit. They can leave a bad taste in your mouth even when they only touch your ears. Or do they ever? Because sometimes it feels like they’re more palpable than physical matter that surrounds you, like they’re sharper than knives and faster than a series of punches.

Yes, words are dangerous. You’ve learned that lesson the hard way.

But then there are times when silence is just as scary. It can scream louder than any words you’ve ever heard, with a thousand devilish voices fighting to get the upper hand in that peculiar choir. Is it even possible to HEAR silence ringing so loud in your mind, or are you just going crazy?

Silence is when your mind speaks, and this is so much worse. There’s no way to hush it, nothing else to focus on, nowhere to run from it. You can’t tell it to stop for a while because you’re tired and maybe resume the speech later. Or is it a conversation?

If so, then are you a madman?

 _Maybe you are_ , it offers eagerly. _Because who else talks to himself? Who talks to his mind like it’s a separate creature? Like you can ever hide your fears from it the way you hide them from other people? Like you can lie to it and hope it will pretend to believe everything’s all right?_

You can’t. Not when there’s no one to share this silence with.

You force yourself to sit up, but that’s all you can do at the moment. And for once you’re happy to have fallen asleep on the couch; the armrest allows you to move the metal weapon away from your body. You wouldn’t stand its touch now. Not while it seems to resonate with all the evil voices of silence.

Somehow you don’t even know where your glove is. You like wearing that glove, not only for practical reasons. It makes at least the hand look human. Metal hands look the same in gloves as flesh and blood hands do. Yet another lie to tell. One that doesn’t even require words.

Words, yes. That’s where it all started. Words scare you, but that means nothing. They can do worse. They scar. And, really, no scar on your body, not even the severed arm nor the ugly place where the new one connects with your skin, is as bad and as lasting as the marks left on your soul, mementos of the wounds on your very self. Things that can never be changed, because no one knows how to turn back time. All the lies you believed, all the people you killed… Those weren’t just a few widows, a few fatherless children, and a few unoccupied offices. For all you know these might have been regimes changing, wars waged and treaties signed thanks to annihilation of one important person or another. And thousands of innocent civilians dying or suffering because of your swift hand and keen eye.

How can you be sure it wasn’t so? Can you ever know the true weight of your guilt? Do you want to know it? And crush beneath it even more than you already are, not even able to stand up and face the day?

 _You’re pathetic_ , whispers your mind as the oppressive silence swells around you. And you thought words pose a problem? You were afraid of people speaking and talking to you? Asking you questions about yourself?

Well, good for you, your mind’s not gonna ask. It already knows. It knows exactly what a mess you are. But you’re more than just a mess. Sure, messes are to be pitied, but they can also be forgiven, they can be helped. You’re way beyond that. You’re the Winter Soldier, you shaped the century. You shaped yourself into the form of a monster.

Not only to those thousands or maybe millions of people whose lives you ruined.

_Look around, Bucky. Open your eyes and notice how much pain you still cause, even to those you personally care about. Don’t you see how much of a burden you are? Don’t you realize you’ll never recover from this, you’ll never be functional again? Steve won’t say it, but you’re just another problem he has to take care of, an additional task he dragged everyone into. Can’t you read what’s behind all the fake smiles? Can’t you see them roll their eyes each time they recite all those assurances like children revising a poem they were asked to learn by heart? Can’t you hear the impatient sighs that accompany each pat on the shoulder?_

_Don’t you think it would have been better if you just--?_

No! You won’t believe this, you can’t think that. THEY can’t think that. All of it… it’s not true. It’s not true, right?

For once, silence is silent again, and your mind is somehow both empty and racing at the same time. You feel like you might just split in two, not only mentally. Like you might start fighting yourself not only in your mind and the two opponent voices may become something more.

You’re a pathetic mess and everyone feels bad because of what happened to you. Yes, you’re hardly keeping things together. But you’re still trying, aren’t you? It’s worth the effort, worth at least a try. After all, Steve spared you for a reason, back there on the helicarrier, a lifetime ago. He could have easily strangled you or plunged your own knife into your chest. He could have left you crashed under the rail.

And he didn’t. But what he actually did is even more important. Because he never gave up. He researched your case and he looked for you, even if not personally. He waited for you to turn up and admit you’re ready to stop running from yourself, and from him.

So where do these doubts you have come from? Isn’t all of this proof enough that you’re not completely lost, that there is a way out and it can be found because you have a guide?

_No, of course it’s not, stupid. Do you think he knew what he was signing up for? He might have wanted to have his friend back, but look at you. You’re not Bucky anymore. People change. You have changed beyond recognition, so how can you know Steve hasn’t changed his mind about you? He’s a good man, so he won’t say you’re a disappointment, but deep down you know the truth. You’re not the person Steve was looking for. Don’t you think it would have been better for him if he’d never found you? If he’d never had to put up with your weaknesses and pretend he cares about you only because he would have cared about Bucky?_

_Remember, you’re not Bucky. You’re the Winter Soldier, now shattered into pieces. There’s no going back, you can never be the unparalleled warrior you used to be, but you can’t erase the fact that you really were that warrior either. The Winter Soldier killed that Bucky boy seventy years ago. So what are you now? An empty shell? A madman? A little bit of both?_

_Do you think Bucky would have been happy to see Steve cope with such a problem? If you were a dog or a cat, you would at least be able to bring some joy into his life. Wag your tail at him when he comes home or chase a laser pointer much to his amusement. But can you honestly say the current you brings joy into anyone’s life?_

_Don’t you think your former friend deserves a break from wet-nursing you?_

Shut up! He’s not… wet-nursing. Or he won’t be for long now. You’ll try harder. You’ll stop being a disappointment. You’ll face every obstacle and you’ll remember how to smile again. In fact, you’ll just stand up right now!

You do. It doesn’t exactly feel like a breakthrough, but it’s something. What now? Maybe you should get dressed?

_Oh, yes, go on. Cover these scars you bear, lie to yourself. They’ll still be there, you can’t escape the memories they carry. Cover the metal arm, maybe it will magically disappear and a flesh and blood arm will grow back?_

This is ridiculous!

_Exactly! So why do you even bother? Why pretend there’s any chance of recovery?_

You know why. It’s all within your mind. You can win if you believe in yourself. It’s all in the mind!

_But your mind is a mess. It’s a whirlwind of confusion and insecurity, and weakness. It’s in pieces. It’s not something you can just glue back together and no one will notice the difference._

But does anyone really expect to see no difference? Does difference mean failure?

_Well, doesn’t it?_

You don’t know.

_Think about Steve. He wanted his old friend back, right? Well, he can’t have this. Which means you fail. You can’t be the old Bucky, you just can’t._

No, you can’t. You’re aware of that. But you can build a new Bucky. Or try to. Surely Steve will like the new Bucky too?

_You tell me. Will he?_

Again, you don’t know. You suppose it depends on what kind of Bucky you manage to build. You’ll have to search for pieces of the old Bucky and gather as many as you can. They would make good foundations for the new one.

_But there may be nothing to gather. You know that, right?_

No. You know there is something. Enough, hopefully. There’s Coney Island, there’s the Stark Expo from decades ago, there’s the army. There’s the key from under the brick.

_That’s not too much, you know. Four meaningless phrases to represent over twenty years. Impressive, great foundations. Or has something new just surfaced that I missed? No? Well, you can’t be so dumb that you can’t see you don’t stand a chance. It won’t be enough, so why even give anyone a false hope?_

You’ll still try.

_But I didn’t mean you. Your hope is meaningless because there’s none of it. Again, think about Steve._

You are. You owe him that. You wouldn’t try just for yourself. You’ll try for him, and for everyone else. So that their fake smiles can turn into real ones and their sighs can express peace of mind, not concern.

That’s decided.

So what were you supposed to do? Oh, get dressed. Right.

You’re not sure what happened, but you’re sitting on the couch again. You stand up, but it feels weird. Why does the room look like it’s swaying back and forth? You swallow hard, suddenly realizing how dry your throat is. When was the last time you drank something?

And why does your left arm seem so much heavier than it should be? Like it’s physically dragging you down.

You realize looking for a clean shirt can wait and head for the kitchen. You should probably eat something. Or drink. Again, when was the last time you ate? Was it yesterday or the day before? It’s not like you’re hungry, but you vaguely remember some basic rules. Food is essential, isn’t it?

You’re almost there, almost in the kitchen, when you notice it’s terribly hot and hard to breathe in the corridor. And dark, ever darker, as if someone was slowly switching off the light.

Then the floor somehow rises up and knocks you out.

When you’re finally able to reach for consciousness again, it’s dark all around. This time really dark in the world, not just in your mind. You try to make out some shapes that surround you, but there’s not much to look at.

An attempt to move reveals something soft under your back and something warm and cozy all over you. You move again and suddenly realize you’re lying on the couch, covered with a blanket, a pillow under your head.

You close your eyes and lay a hand on your forehead, remembering. Was it all a dream? It must have been, how else would you get back on the couch? After all, there’s no one else here. Steve’s on a mission, Sam with him, and Natasha’s somewhere in Europe. No one else has ever come to check up on you since you agreed to take care of Steve’s plants while he’s away. Besides, it felt good to escape the scrutinizing gazes of the Avengers, always with that uncomfortable mixture of pity and suspicion in their eyes.

Of course, you understood them. You didn’t trust yourself, so you would have been genuinely surprised if they trusted you. Still, you needed some time alone to think things over. And apparently your mind played a trick on you, or maybe your body subconsciously reminded you to take better care of yourself through that dream.

“Yeah,” you whisper to yourself. Somehow you’re surprised at how raspy your voice sounds. “Steve would be pissed if he knew.”

“If he knew what?”

You jerk at the sound, standing upright, still trying to free your legs of the blanket. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the voice and relax. The world begins to spin around. So none of it was a dream?

The darkness dissolves as the visitor lights the small lamp in the corner of the room. He walks up to you and gently pushes you back on the couch.

“Lie down and save your strength.” He covers you with the blanket and offers a mug. “Here, drink this.”

“What-what’s this?”

“Just tea. Drink it.”

You do. After all, you’re awfully thirsty.

“Better?” There’s genuine concern in Steve’s eyes. You just nod in response, not yet ready to verbally acknowledge your weakness. He takes the mug away and puts it on a table, then sits on the edge of the couch.

“So, what should I be pissed about?”

You avert your eyes and press your lips together, the way you always do when you hesitate. “Nothing.” What else can you say? Steve just shakes his head, but for some reason there’s a faint smile creeping onto his face.

“Does it have anything to do with the fact that you were lying on floor, unconscious, when I came back?” You do not reply. You don’t have to. He knows, of course he does. “Bucky, when was the last time you ate? Or drank?”

These questions again! But this time, surprisingly, you feel comfortable with them. They’re not scolding and, for the first time in years, maybe even in your whole life, you feel like it’s fine to need help, like there’s no shame in being weak. It’s a strange thought and you’ll need some time to get used to it, but you know it’s doable.

“I don’t know.” You’re not lying. You’re not hiding anything. It doesn’t make sense anymore, it wouldn’t take you anywhere.

Steve wraps an arm around your back and this is when all the remaining walls come tumbling down. You lean against him before you can put up any resistance, forehead resting on his collarbone, eyes closed. The blanket almost falls off your shoulders, but he holds it in place.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“But you know you should eat something?”

“Mhm.”

“Want anything specific?”

You shrug. “Whatever. I’m really not hungry.”

“I know. But I’ll still get you something.”

You don’t protest. He goes back to the kitchen, taking the now empty mug with him, and you just sink back onto the couch, adjusting the blanket as you roll onto one side. The corners of your lips curl up in a smile.

You trust him enough to be sure that whatever you carry, he won’t let its weight crush you. He’ll take as much of it as he can, as much as you’ll allow him to. And somehow, deep down, it’s the most reassuring thing in the world. Somehow you find consolation in what you would normally run away from.

Because now you know it’s not pity. It’s not duty.

It’s just an extended hand. And an open heart. Not even words. Simple gestures and thoughts and meaning transmitted heaven knows how.

You accept them.


End file.
